Picture Perfect
by IanDonyer -ChrisAvrich
Summary: HoennShipping but not in the way one might think. Better not to include a summary. Rated T, brief swearing. One-shot.


**Picture Perfect**

Hoenn Shipping One-shot

* * *

_Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor  
_

"... Damn it, Brendan!" He exclaimed, chastising himself in the middle of his darkened room, taking out his frustration by slamming his arm across the table and wiping away its contents. In the process, he noticed something fly off: A picture. The only picture he had ever taken with her, at the beginning. Even in the darkness, it seemed to shine... it was her smile.

Her smile illuminated everything. It resembled the backside of an Illumise, despite how vulgar it made things sound... it was a perfect comparison.

_Reachin' for the phone 'cause I can't fight it anymore  
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind  
For me it happens all the time  
_

He bent down to the floor, and slid his hand beneath the thin surface of the photograph, picking it up and bringing it closer to his face for better examination. He was younger, then – almost by three years to current date. For some ungodly reason, he wore that hat back then, to: It made him appear a gray haired eleven year old with a red headband, though his hair was actually slick and black with a certain shine to it.

She looked beautiful, but that was not at all unusual: She always did, even in the moments in which she got down and dirty... ah, their first kiss, dropping down in the mud in the middle of a torrential downpour... was a perfect example of this. Both of them were drenched, and he was butt ugly... but she still looked perfect.

_It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now  
Said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now  
And I don't know how I can do without  
I just need you now  
_

He felt a strange pressure in his eyes, then. A familiar pressure, but it always felt strange for your typical alpha male, those who had grown up in the middle of a group of people that always taught you, "It's okay to cry, Brendan. It's okay", but you never really listened, did you?

He felt the wetness slide down his cheeks, mucus slipping through his nostrils. Crudely, he reached up and wiped both off in one quick motion with his hands, and then tried to hold back any more. He stood there like this for a couple moments, and he did not shed a tear... but moist eyes focused on this photograph.

_Another shot of whiskey can't stop looking at the door  
Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before  
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind  
For me it happens all the time  
_

Another thing your typical alpha male does is things that your average adult tells you is bad. For instance? Drinking.

He'd started it about half a year ago, when things really began... when the difficulties of life really struck him square in the face. Stealing from his mother, who drank the beer on occasion... he always kept one or two beneath his bed for when things got real tough. Like now, for instance. His finger slid beneath the tab, and he popped the warm alcoholic drink open and began to chug.

He smiled, suddenly.

_It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk and I need you now  
Said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now  
And I don't know how I can do without  
I just need you now  
_

He lowered himself onto his bed, and finally allowed himself to cry. Depression had been a problem for him in the past half year, and he guessed everyone around him could tell... but they let it progress. Maybe it was good for him to go through these emotions, to deal with his loss, so sudden and so fierce.

Ten minutes passed. The alcohol, which he hadn't gotten around to drinking for nearly a month now, was starting to kick in. His mind was a blur, and without regards to the consequences, he took the can and threw it at the wall, letting it fall to the ground, what little contents it had left inside spilling onto the floor in an amber mess.

He needed to do this, and he needed to do it now. He didn't care that it was nine in the evening, nor that his mother would protest... fuck her, she didn't know half of what he was feeling._  
_

_woah woaaah._

He reached underneath his bed, pulling out an old, dusted box. Beneath the layer of gray particles, was the white container striped with blue. He pulled off the top and tossed it aside, pulling the old pair of black shoes out and slipping them on to his sockless feet.

_Guess I'd rather hurt than feel nothin' at all  
_

Running Shoes, Devon Corporation creations. They allowed someone to move at much faster speeds than they could normally... almost superhuman, in fact. They worked perfectly for the situation. He stretched for a moment, reaching down to touch his toes, doing a set of lunges... and then he ran.

He nearly tripped down the steps, feeling a thin mass of pain rush over his legs as he stumbled down to the bottom. But he didn't care.

_It's a quarter after one I'm all alone and I need you now  
_

Past his mother, who turned around at the sound of her stumbling, half-drunk little boy, and quickly cried out in protest as the door opened... but her cries went unheard. He was already outside, into the rain, his legs running on autopilot to the nearby graveyard.

_And I said I wouldn't call but I'm a little drunk and I need you now_

He had lost her in a simple, very preventable accident a little less than a year prior. With money saved up from the championship, he had bought a car. A hovercraft, to be exact. He had learned how to drive just for the occasion – a romantic drive that just happened to pass by a tree heavy route. Bam, headfirst into the trunk, and the two children hadn't really been concerned about seatbelts.

Accidents would never happen to them, right?

_And I don't know how I can do without _

Wrong. The force had been almost apocalyptic, metal ripping and tearing, but both of them had survived that – she had died quickly, thankfully, when whiplash snapped her fragile little neck right in two. Brendan had been in the hospital for nearly three weeks while he recovered from his injuries, with his love now buried in the ground instead of in another hospital bed, preferably close to him where the two could talk, converse just like the old times...

_I just need you now  
_

Soaked and covered in mud, Brendan skidded to a stop as the Graveyard of Route 101 came into view. His legs now ached, unable to handle the sudden severe strain he had placed on them... but he ignored it. He needed to see her grave, he needed to speak to her, ask her to forgive him. He slipped in through the gate, and immediately began searching for the grave.

_I just need you now (wait)_

It took almost half an hour because of protesting legs, but he finally found it: A half-cylindrical tombstone, dirt mounded neatly in front of it, roses he had placed recently now soaking wet on the ground, bruised and broken.

Carved into the stone, was the name:

**R. I. P.**

**MAY BIRCH**

**xxxx – xxxx**

**IN LOVING MEMORY**

_Ooo, baby, I need you now _

It was difficult to tell, really: Whether it was the rain that coursed down his cheeks, or tears. The pressure was not present, but that was because of the hand grasping his own, the skin of a poltergeist but it was oh so real at the same time.

He felt a set of lips press against his cheek, ghostly but wet. Hot breath against his cheek...

"It's okay."

"Are you sure...?"

"It was an accident, Brendan. Do you really think I'd hate you for it?"

"But you died be-"

"Died? Nonsense. I'll always be here at your side, Brendan. You know it."

"May, I love you..."

"I love you to, Brendan."

At these words, he blinked and she was gone.

* * *

Weee, more impulsive one-shots.

Songfic, first attempt at it. Credit to Lady Antebellum for the song, "Need you Now". Give it a listen, pretty catchy little tune, despite how depressing I made the actual story here.

Remember, if you like it, be sure to check out my other stories!

And whether you liked it or not, be sure to drop in a review. I want to hear opinions.


End file.
